It's a Girl Thing
by MissRedZelda
Summary: Amell is angry with Alistair for reasons only the Maker seems to know. So, he does what every good boyfriend would do: try to figure out why of course. Alistair/F!Amell. Rated for safety.


**Holy Maker, how long has it been since I've submitted _anything_ to this site? 2-3 years? Anyway, while I was playing DO:A, a certain banter came up between Alistair and Wynne that made me giggle for a straight five minutes. Aaaaand, thus a story idea came up.**

**Title: It's a Girl Thing  
Rating: T for violence, suggestive themes and women's problems  
Pairing:Alistair/F!Amell, of course**

It's a Girl Thing

Silence had finally fallen over camp as everyone returned to their tents for the night. In his tent, Alistair pulled on a loose-fitting shirt and trousers before he dimmed the lamplight slightly and turned on his side. He then wound an arm around his most favourite woman in the world and sighed in contentment as he nuzzled his face in her thick mane of wavy dark hair.

The woman giggled and placed her hand on top of his. "Comfortable, are we?" she inquired.

"Mmmm, you're warm, Miranda," Alistair replied. He gave the Mage a light squeeze. "You have no idea how cold it is out there tonight."

He felt her shrug her shoulders. "Well, it is nearly winter at the moment," she said. "Of course it would get chilly during the nights." She turned her head slightly to her right so she was facing Alistair. "Good thing you have me, huh?"

The Grey Warden prince grinned back at her, a dimple forming on his left check. "I am a lucky man," he replied.

Miranda Amell chuckled, rubbing the sole of her foot against his shin. "If that's so, then I suppose _I _am a lucky _woman_," she said. "I've managed to snag myself a handsome prince."

Alistair moved in closer to place a soft kiss on her cheek. Miranda shivered when she felt his hot breath against her ear. "And I've captured myself a beautiful Enchantress."

Her heart did a flip-flop in her chest, she found herself wondering if he had any idea just how he made her feel when he was near her.

Miranda was about to reply when she felt a hand move under the hem of her white shift and plant itself on her thigh. Her deep blue eyes widened and she looked directly at Alistair, who was gazing at her with a smirk and a familiar glint of passion in his brown eyes. He had always been playful and compassionate, if not a little immature for his age (twenty, only a year older than herself). But, Miranda supposed that that was just one of his many quirks that attracted her so much to him.

His thumb brushed against her skin, giving her goosebumps. "You know, I can think of a few _other _ways we can keep warm," he said, his voice low and husky.

Ever since the two of them had spent that night together in her tent, they had been inseparable. "Joined at the hip" as Wynne had put it. Even more so, they had spent just about every night in the thralls of passionate lovemaking. As expected, the whole camp was aware of what had transpired the next morning. Miranda had even overheard Zevran, the Antivan elf assassin, commenting on what he overheard (mostly asking Alistair if he was feeling ok, as he "sounded like he was just getting into it, when all went quiet.") Miranda had been grateful that it was she who was leading, Zevran may have felt the need to compare the colour of her face to the deep crimson rose – gifted to her from Alistair – she wore in her hair.

But despite the comments from their teammates, Miranda and Alistair were happy together. Sickening sweethearts always exchanging doe-eyed looks and occasionally stopping during a quest to randomly exchange a kiss (while resting of course). The rest of the team had even come to accept their relationship – quicker than Miranda had expected. The two of them could not be any happier than they were.

Alistair's hand travelled up her thigh and stopped when he reached her hip. He moved closer to her, beginning a trail of kisses along her jaw bone . . . when suddenly she grabbed his hand in an iron grip and roughly turned around so she was facing him. "No," she said firmly, glaring at him.

His face was a picture of confusion. "What? Miranda, are you –"

She didn't give him a chance to speak. "No, I won't sleep with you tonight! What do you think I am? Some hussy?" she cried, uncharacteristically shrill.

All he could do was shake his head and gape dumbly. "No, no – Miranda, I would never – "

"Get out."

"Wha –"

"GET OUT!" To emphasis the point, she jabbed her forefinger in the direction of the tent flap.

For a moment, Alistair wondered if it would be wise asking her why she was so angry at him. It wasn't like he had made the same moves on her a few nights ago. She had not objected. In fact, only last night, it had been she who had propositioned _him_ (not that he complained, of course). Had he done something wrong? Had she taken offence to being referred to as an Enchantress? He wished she would tell him instead of exiling him.

In the end, he decided that it was a losing battle. "Yes, dear," he mumbled, and crawled out of the tent on his hand and knees like a defeated prisoner. Immediately, the winter night chill hit him harder than a Winter's Grasp spell, and he shivered like a leaf. It didn't help that he was barefoot as well. "Um, can I at least have a blanket?" he asked.

Miranda's only reply was her dimming the lamplight down completely – and then throwing out a single blanket before tying the tent flaps tightly, preventing him from climbing back in while she slept.

Alistair sighed as he bent down and picked up the blanket. It would do, he supposed. At least for the night. He would try to make up for whatever mistake he had made tomorrow. He lay down on a bedroll by the smouldering remains of the campfire. He pulled the blanket over him, trying to ignore the fact that he had been exiled from his own tent.

* * *

The rest of the team were shocked, to say the least, when they rose the next morning to find Alistair sleeping on a bedroll outside his tent – without their leader.

Leliana prodded him, startling him awake. "Um . . . good morning, Leliana," he said, feeling a tint of red appearing on his cheeks.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

Alistair lowered his head. By the Maker, this was embarrassing! "Miranda . . . she kicked me out last night," he admitted, lowering his voice.

"Ha! I cannot imagine why," Morrigan jibed. "Perhaps she has finally grown tired of your idiocy."

Alistair sent the dark-haired witch a glare, which she returned with a smirk. She was wrong, Alistair told himself. Miranda loved him and he loved her. There was no way she would suddenly tire of him and end their relationship – not without telling him, of course. He immediately rethought that last statement, realising how silly it sounded.

"Perhaps she was simply in a bad mood," Wynne suggested. "You just caught her at the wrong time."

"Ah, 'tis the way of women," Zevran chimed in. "They are mysterious creatures of such great beauty and abundance. Yet, they can be as fiery as the Void itself."

If there was ever a woman as fiery as Miranda herself, Alistair had yet to meet her. There had been only a few times he had seen her at her most fearsome, and most of those times had been during battle. Once, a Darkspawn had knocked Leliana down and attempted to take her prisoner (they all knew well enough just what the Darkspawn did to their female prisoners). Miranda took only a second to jump into action: brutally smashing the Hurlock's skull in using the heavy end of her staff, and then setting the rest of his body on fire with a spell. It was a mystery why the Darkspawn didn't learn from that lesson that messing with Miranda and her friends was suicidal.

Leliana placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Just give her some time," the red-haired Orlesian bard told him. "She has not yet emerged from her tent, perhaps she was just in need of a nice long sleep?"

Alistair hoped Leliana was right. Miranda being angry with him over something he was completely unaware of was the last thing he wanted.

* * *

Unfortunately, Leliana could not have been further from the truth. When Miranda finally emerged from their tent, Alistair could practically _feel_ the magical rage radiating off her. When he turned to give her a smile, she only glared at him in response. His spirits fell, she was still angry at him for reasons that eluded him. Glancing over at Leliana, he saw that she had caught her glare as well.

After breakfast, the group packed up their camp and hit the road again. Once or twice, Alistair considered stopping her and demanding why she was behaving like such a stoic bitch, but fear of possibly not surviving the reprisal made him reconsider. Having his skull smashed in and then set on fire (not necessarily in that order) was not something he was looking forward to.

Eventually, they ran into a group of bandits. Alistair wondered why the bandits even bothered trying to rob them. Even though they did outnumber them, couldn't they see just how heavily armed him and the group were – and that a few of them were mages? Alistair was not in the mood to fight – not at the moment, with his lover as angry as she was with him. At that moment, he would have been happy if they got the hint and backed off, allowing them to pass without the need for conflict and bloodshed.

Sadly, that plan went out the window when one of the bandits foolishly made a comment towards Miranda so lewd, it caused even Zevran's mouth to part slightly. The next thing the bandit knew, he was on fire. It took the bandits a few moments to consider whether fighting back was a good idea. Unfortunately for them, they decided that it was.

The group jumped into their respective roles and positions: Leliana hanging back with her bow, shooting arrows with deadly precision; Wynne ever ready with her array of healing spells; Zevran weaving in and around his foes, striking them at their weakest with his knives; Morrigan with her powerful spells and shapeshifting abilities; Orghren, Sten, and Alistair slicing through their enemies using their heavy weapons and strength. And at the heart of it all was Miranda, using her staff as both a bludgeoning weapon and a channel for her powerful magic.

With a hefty swing of his sword, Alistair severed the head of one of the nameless bandits. Blood spurted out from the stump, soaking his already crimson stained armour in even more blood. With most of the bandits lying in pieces on the ground, the remaining bandits finally gave up and fled. Alistair sighed in relief and sheathed his sword.

He turned to the rest of the group and grinned. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" he said.

Suddenly, he heard a cry behind him. He spun around just in time to catch the sight of one of the remaining bandits – covered in blood, burns, and deep gashes – charging toward him, holding a knife, ready and poised to strike. He was so close; Alistair didn't even have time to draw his sword again.

But a split second later, the bandit was thrown back by a bolt of energy. When he was on the ground, his body erupted into flames. Alistair didn't need to turn around and see who had saved him, but he did so anyway. Miranda's hands were still glowing from her spell use. She glared at him, covered from head to toe in the blood of their enemies.

"It would pay for you to be more alert and careful, Choir Boy," she told him coldly. She then walked past him, carefully stepping over the bandit corpses as she did.

_Choir Boy?_ Alistair thought.

One by one, the group followed past him. All except Oghren, who stopped to ask; "What sodding thing did you do to piss the boss off so much?" the dwarf asked, taking a swig of his ale.

Alistair shrugged and shook his head.

* * *

The stopped to make camp a few hours later as the daylight was beginning to fade. Choosing a location close to a lake and waterfall where they each took turns in washing and bathing the blood and grim off their skins. After which they all went to Wynne and Miranda for healing. Afterwards, they settled around a new fire and partook in some dinner. Occasionally, Alistair would glance over at Miranda, who all but seemed to ignore him. Usually, he would sit down next to her, and she would rest her head against him. To him, being able to be so close to her was the most rewarding part of the day.

When dinner was over and everyone went about their business, Alistair remained where he was sitting. He watched her rise to her feet and vanish into her (their) tent. He wanted to help his love, find out whys he was so angry with him. If it was something he had done, then he wanted to try and make up for it. He wasn't going to beg for her forgiveness, not unless he desperately had to.

"Women problems, my friend?" Zevran suddenly asked, making Alistair jump.

"You . . . could say that," he replied.

The Elven Antivan assassin chuckled. "Ah, you naive young man. You should know that women are comparable to a double edged sword – they are a beauty, meant to be treasured and cherished, but they are also so fiery and volatile." He chuckled. "But of course, I mean no insult towards our lovely leader. She is a formidable woman in her own right, and so beautiful."

While Alistair agreed with everything his companion said, it wasn't chit-chat he wanted. "Are you attempting to help me, or do you just want to talk?" he asked, perhaps a bit too bluntly.

But Zevran being Zevran, he didn't seem to take much offence. "My point is, is that you should try to do something to help whatever it is that is bothering her." He pointed past a few tents. "I would suggest talking to Wynne."

Of course! Wynne! Alistair realised. He jumped to his feet. "Of course. Thank you, Zevran," he said.

"As long as you name your first-born after me," Zevran replied.

Alistair frowned. "Don't push your luck, Zevran," he said lowly.

The Antivan elf just shrugged his shoulders and sat down by the newly built camp fire. Taking his advice, Alistair rose to his feet and made his way over to Wynne's tent. He found the seasoned Spirit Healer sitting on a mat of furs, reading a rather large tome. _The Orlesian Rose_, Alistair recognised. It was one the books Miranda had picked up and gifted to her. She was always like that, giving and rarely taking for herself.

Wynne closed her book and glanced at Alistair with a warm smile. "Is there something I can help you with, Alistair?" she asked him.

The former Templar nodded. "It's . . . about Miranda," he began.

Wynne tilted her head to the side slightly. "Oh, if it is relationship problems you are having, then I don't think I'm the best source of advise," she told him.

Alistair could not stop a shade of pink from washing over his cheeks. "No, no, i-i-it's not that . . . well, i-it kind of is, b-b-but then again, i-it isn't. It's –"

"Slow down, Alistair," Wynne finally interrupted, raising her hand. She set her book aside. "Now, start again. Tell me exactly what the problem is."

The Grey Warden took in a deep breath, calming his nerves. "Well, you know that Miranda and I are kind of . . . involved, right?" he began.

The seasoned mage nodded her head. "Well, the way you two look at each other, speak to each other; touch each other, and all the rest. It isn't difficult to see. So yes, I know," she replied with a smile.

Are we really that obvious in public? Alistair wondered. "Well, you see, last night . . . I think I may have said something wrong, so she got angry really quickly and kicked me out of our tent. She wasn't like this the day beforehand, or the night beforehand. I think I may have said something to offend her, and I want to try and make it up to her. So, that's the reason why I am here. I need some advice from another woman," he explained, as careful as he could to not include some of the finer details.

Wynne looked at him oddly. "You could have just have easily gone to Leliana, or even Morrigan. Miranda and Leliana are best friends, after all," she said.

"I could have, but Leliana and Miranda may gossip about this, and I'm still terrified that Morrigan might turn me into a toad if I say the wrong thing," he replied. "Besides, you're far more wider than the two of them put together."

Wynne raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that because I am old?"

Alistair's mouth dropped open. He raised his hands and shook his head. "No! No! I don't mean that at all! With age come experience, and with experience comes wisdom, and you're very wise and – and –"

Wynne chuckled and placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Calm down, Alistair. I am just teasing you," she told him.

Sure, what else is new? Alistair thought bitterly. He nodded his head and took in another deep breath. "Alright. So, can you tell me what is wrong with her? What can I do to help her?" He was beginning to sound desperate now.

Wynne nodded her head. "I have seen her change in attitude yesterday. In that battle, she was far more fierce than normal. But, you need not worry yourself about her health, Alistair. She is perfectly fine and healthy," the Spirit Healer told him. "I believe she is going through her cycle at the moment."

Alistair looked at her with confusion. "Her cycle?" he asked.

"Yes. Her menstrual cycle, it is just a part of a woman's reproductive system. Do they not teach these things at the Chantry, Alistair?"

No, they didn't, Alistair thought to himself. He supposed the reason was because they did not see it as necessary, since Templars were discouraged from marrying due to the rigorous training, which often segregated them from the outside world. A Templar marrying another Templar was considered fraternization (which seldom occurred due to the majority of Templars being men). But A Templar marrying a mage, especially an apostate, malificar, and one within a Circle was especially frowned upon. Alistair, however, was a special case – giving the fact that he left the Order before taking the vows.

He nodded. "Yes, yes. Of course," he lied, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Even if Wynne could tell, she did not object. "I would just leave her alone for a few days," she suggested. She picked up her book and climbed into her tent.

Alistair, however, did a perfect 180 turn and stared toward the campfire with wide eyes and a rigid posture. "Reproductive . . . cycle . . .?"

* * *

Alistair paced back and forth furiously next to the smouldering remains of the campfire. Everyone else, including Miranda, had retreated into their tents for the night – all except Alistair of course. Lifting a hand, he ran it through his sandy blonde hair.

She was pregnant. She had to be. Even though Alistair had grown up without the knowledge of this 'menstrual cycle', he knew well enough that their recent . . . exertions, as Zevran had put it, would result in a pregnancy. But Alistair had been so certain that because of the fact that the two of them were Grey Wardens, having a child was next to impossible. It was hard enough with only one of the parents being a Grey Warden. But then again, there had been so very few women Grey Wardens, perhaps it was different for them.

Alistair shook his head. What was he thinking? They were in the middle of a Blight, and what was he doing instead of defending Fereldan from the Darkspawn? Getting the woman he loved pregnant. No wonder she was so angry with him. He had to do something about this, he had to make it right somehow . . .

And then it hit him. He felt around in a pouch attached to his belt, and pulled out the Ring of Ages. He had bought it a week ago when the group stopped off in Denerim from the Wonders of Thedas shop (he remembered that he had embarrassingly announced that Arl Eemon had once bought him a Golem figure. He had quickly added that it happened when he was young. But from the knowing smile Miranda gave him, she told him that she was not fooled – she, after all, knew him better than anyone else in their little rag-tag group), intending to give it to Miranda as a gift. The ring had cost him seventy Sovereigns, a very hefty price for the group at the time. Especially when they were scraping by on money looted from corpses and earned from odd jobs. And especially so when the money he paid for the ring had been out his own pocket. He had been waiting for the right time to spring it on her – now seemed as good a time as any.

* * *

Sure enough, he found Miranda in their tent, huddled up pitifully in a ball. She had wrapped a blanket around herself, giving the appearance of a small cocoon. Lying next to her was her Mabari, which she had named Wrex. Wrex was the first to notice his presence. Almost immediately, the Mabari bared his teeth and growled. He had taken a disliking to Alistair ever since he had been begun sleeping with Miranda in her tent, and Wrex had been exiled out by the fire due to the little space and Wrex's large mass.

"Grrrrr, yourself," Alistair shot back. He turned his attention to the mage. "Miranda?"

She poked her face out from the confines of the blanket. "Alistair? What's wrong?"

He took in a deep breath, already his confidence was dropping. "Miranda, I was wondering if you and I could talk." He moved his gaze to Wrex. "In private, if you would please."

With what looked like great effort, Miranda pulled herself up into a seating position, and shooed Wrex out of the tent. The Mabari whined and hung head as he slinked out into the cold. At least the campfire would keep him warm, Alistair thought. Miranda looked at him. "What's on your mind?" she asked.

It was now or never, Alistair supposed. Before he could run away in fear, he launched himself forward, grabbed Miranda's hand, and fell down on one knee.

Miranda's large blue eyes widened. "Alistair, what are you? –"

"Miranda, I am so incredibly sorry, and I understand if you'll never forgive me for doing this to you – what with Darkspawn hunting us everywhere we go, the Blight and everything else that's going wrong around us. But I promise you that we will make it out alive somehow," he said quickly.

Miranda's mouth stayed hanging open.

Alistair pulled the Ring of Ages from his belt pouch and held it before her. "Miranda Amell, will you marry me?"

Miranda's eyes were wide and her mouth remained hanging open. Alistair wondered for a moment if she had gone into shock. "A-Alistair?" She swallowed quickly, before speaking again. "What in Andraste's name has brought this on?"

He sighed and looked at her with all honesty. "Miranda, there's no need to carry on this facade with me. I know. I know all about it," Alistair replied, brushing her hand with his thumb.

Her face with a picture of confusion. "About what?"

"Miranda, I know all about the baby. And I am so sorry that it had to happen now of all times. With the Blite, Loghain, a civil war on the horizon, and having to dodge death at practically every corner to contend with. But I promise you this: I will make sure our child survives all of this, and if the worst happens, I will do something to make sure he or she knows of both his or her parents."

Miranda's shocked expression did not change. It was the longest and most passionate speech she had ever heard him make, a far cry from his usual self-deprecating stabs at himself. She willed herself to try and speak. The way he was looking at her, she had to say _something_. "B-baby?"

"Yes, our baby."

She continued to gape at him. "Alistair . . . I'm – I'm not pregnant," she finally said. "I'm so sorry, but I'm not."

Alistair didn't know whether to feel relieved or devastated. Sure, he was relieved that any future concerns about their unborn child's safety were now rendered mute, but another part of him had been excited at the prospect of them raising a family. "But . . . your. . ." Sweet Andraste, even _thinking_ those two words made the blood rush to his cheeks. He swallowed. "_Menstrual cycle_ . . ."

Miranda's pale cheeks turned a bright shade of red. "They don't teach you these things in the Chantry, don't they?" she murmured.

Miranda wasn't Wynne, he couldn't lie to her. Miranda Amell knew him all too well. "No," he replied, shaking his head.

His favourite Mage sighed. "Alistair, it's what women get when we're _not_ pregnant. It's only for a few days a month, so it's not something you need to fret about," she explained.

Alistair nodded. "I see." His gaze wondered down to the ring, he was still holding it out to her. He closed his hand around it and lowered it to his side. He gaze Miranda a smile. "Well, I suppose you can't blame me for trying to do the right thing."

Miranda shook her head. "No, I can't."

The Grey Warden Mage slipped an arm around his neck and pulled close to her. He rested his head in the crook of her neck, just below her chin. It was the little things like that which he enjoyed the most in their relationship. Sure, making love to her was great too – wonderful, in fact. But, I wasn't as if he had anyone else to compare her to. The same went for her as well, which he had to admit came as quite a surprise to him, considering a past conversation he had with Wynne in which she had mentioned that Mages would often seek each others' "company". It was something that came from living in a gilded cage all your life, and having little to no contact with your family to boot. But Miranda had been different; she had never had "relations" with anyone in that way. According to her, she had never felt the urge. Not until now.

He felt her hand take hold of his chin, and moved his gaze to meet hers. She smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. "But, there is a silver lining to all this, you know," she said.

"And what is that?" he asked, snaking his arms around her waist.

Miranda giggled for a few moments before replying. "Well, you see, when a girl gets her cycle, it is generally a sign that a part of her is ready to have a child," she explained.

Alistair regarded her curiously. "What are you trying to say?"

The Mage sighed. "What I am trying to say, Alistair, is that I still bleed. So therefore, it may still be possible for me to get pregnant," she concluded.

He fixed his brown eyes on her. "Are . . . you sure, Miranda? I mean, there have been so few women Grey Wardens. So, it may be different for you. It's just . . . I've never seen any of them have them _after_ they became Grey Wardens. I just – "

Miranda placed a single finger over his lips, effectively silencing him. "It's okay, Alistair. All I'm saying is that it may be a possibility. We'll have plenty of time to find out after we slay the Archdemon. Besides . . ." She pulled him up closer to her lips, so their faces were millimetres apart. "I would _love _to have your children, you know."

He couldn't help but be entranced by her. She never needed to cast any kind of spell on him to do so, her smile was enough. "I would too . . ." Her amused grin broke the spell. "I mean . . . I would love _you_ . . . to – to have my children! Not . . . um . . . not m – me . . . please stop looking at me like that."

"Why? You're just so adorable when you're flustered."

He snorted. "What is it with you women and making sport of our embarrassment?" he demanded dryly.

Miranda just smiled further and hugged him closer. "Oh, you're making far too much of a big deal out of this." She was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "Alistair, I have a question."

"What is it, my dear?" He could never stay angry or annoyed with her for very long.

"Did you . . . mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"That if I really was pregnant, that you would marry me?"

He lifted his head from her neck and gazed at her. "Miranda, how could you ask such a question? Of course I would marry you. No matter if Arl Eemon approves of us together or not!" He did intend for it to be as passionate as it did, but he hoped he had managed to get his feeling across.

She nodded, so it seemed he did. She ran her fingers through his hair. "So . . . if the engagement offer still valid?" she asked."Because I do accept."

Alistair couldn't help but chuckle. In some ways, she was better than him at making light of a serious situation. It was just one of the many _many_ things that he loved about her. "Uh-uh, little lady. You aren't trapping me _that_ easily!" All the same, he pulled the Ring of Ages out of his pouch and slipping it on her ring finger. "But, you can keep the ring. I had bought it for you anyway."

She lifted her hand and admired the ring for a moment. "Alright, so it's a _semi _engagement, then," she said, grinning.

They lay down together again. Alistair dimmed the lamplight and pulled blankets over them. He would have happily gone to sleep with his favourite Mage in his arms, but she had one more thing to say before she did.

"Alistair, I just want to apologise for kicking you out of our tent, and making you sleep out in the cold, and calling you a _Choir Boy_!" And then, she burst into tears.

It felt strange, to watch a woman who was more than happy to beat an eldritch abomination or simple bandit within an inch of their life, and then letting her magic take care of the rest, start crying due to her insulting him – especially when he was not really going to fault her for it.

All he could do was just smile at her and shake his head. He wasn't really angry at her, he could never be angry at her – it was something he had found was impossible for him. "It's alright, Miranda," he assured her. "Tell you what? When we arrive at the next down tomorrow, I'll buy you some chocolates. According to Zevran, they are a popular thing to eat when you need a good pick-me-up, especially in Antiva –"

He didn't get to finish, because Miranda had flung her arms around his neck and rammed her lips against his. Alistair chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist again, returning her kiss with equal passion. As much as he loved this woman, there were still many things about her and other women that he couldn't understand. Zevran was right, as much as Alistair hated to admit it – women were as mysterious as they were wonderful (most of them).

But, Alistair wasn't complaining. He liked a bit of intrigue.

* * *

**Ever since hearing that banter, I've always found myself wondering if Alistair was aware of "women's problems" like that. Probably not, giving his Chantry upbringing. He seems to be aware of where babies come from so it's a possibility he does know. But either way, I wrote this, intending for it to just be a drabble, and it's muted into I know what the hell it is.**

**But, whatever. R&R!**

**-MissRedZelda**


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